


Auld Lang Syne

by witchy_teacup



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Implied Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Marriage Proposal, New Year's Eve, Nothing explicit, Other, Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchy_teacup/pseuds/witchy_teacup
Summary: After the Apacanope, Aziraphale and Crowley move in together in a cozy cottage, and life, as it were, went on. Then one day, as the dawn of the new decade draws near, the angel has a favor to ask of his favorite demon.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Auld Lang Syne

Crowley ran a hand through his now-shoulder-length hair and blew out a big sigh. “Where the fuck did that mister end up?” he muttered. He wove through the cottage picking up throw pillows to look under, opening cabinets, re-shelving stacks of books, and generally shuffling the combined belongings of the Crowley-Fell household. He knew he could just miracle up a new plant mister, but damn it, he wanted that one. It had been a house-warming present from his angel, for Someone’s sake!

Crowley ended up back in the conservatory, shuffling plant pots around, growling menacingly at his trembling indoor plants. “If I find out any of you are responsible for this,” he growled, “I will throw all of you down the disposal and start with a whole new crop of seedlings.”

Finally, he gave up, resolving to ask Aziraphale when he got home from his meeting with a rare book dealer back in London. He stalked out of the conservatory and up the stairs to the bedroom that he mostly shared with the angel. He tossed himself face first into the massive bed and sat back up immediately. He’d managed to find the mister with his face. He yanked the offending mister out from between two pillows and glared at it.

“Good thing I don’t wear sunglasses around the house anymore,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose where the mister had connected with his head.

He sighed and extricated himself from the bed’s embrace reluctantly. With a great show of irritation that no one was around to see, Crowley stomped back downstairs to take care of the indoor plants. 

He had just about finished misting the plants when suddenly a head of fluffy blond curls appeared behind the orchid he was misting. He jumped in surprise. “Holy shit, Angel!” Crowley shouted, mister trigger finger twitching. “Give a demon a little warning!”

“Sorry, my dear,” Aziraphale said with a bright smile. “I was wondering if you might do a favor for me?”

Crowley arched an eyebrow and cocked a hip, his free hand gravitating to the bony jut of it. “Depends, Angel. What do you want?”

Aziraphale twisted his pinky ring and bit his bottom lip briefly, changeable blue eyes transforming into the beseeching gaze he knew the demon couldn’t possibly resist. “Well, dearest,” he said, adding an ever-so-slight pout for good measure, “I ran into an old colleague after my meeting, and we got to talking and...he invited me to his New Years Eve party, and I said yes...”

Crowley’s other eyebrow rose to join its mate and he asked, “And what, pray tell, does that have to do with me?”

Aziraphale upped the wattage on his pout and said, “Oh Crowley, surely you don’t mean to force me to go to the party alone, do you?”

Crowley felt his resolve fracturing under the angel’s aggressive use of puppy dog eyes. He rolled his eyes and pulled the mister’s trigger, covering the angel’s beseeching face with a fine mist of filtered water.

Instantaneously, Aziraphale’s expression transformed into one of pure indignation. “Crowley!” he squeaked.

Crowley smothered a laugh as he snapped his fingers, miraculously drying the disgruntled angel. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Angel,” he said failing to disguise his mirth. “I’ll do it, whatever you want, just try not to be too sore at me.”

Aziraphale’s lips compressed into a thin line and his brows furrowed as he considered the less than contrite demon before him. “I suppose I can forgive you,” he said finally, folding his arm across his chest, “if you agree to come to the party AND act like the perfect husband.”

Crowley’s attention snagged on the last word out of the angel’s mouth. He blinked rapidly a couple of times, then cocked his head to one side. A crooked grin spread slowly over his features as he asked, “’Husband’ Angel?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks went pink and he said sheepishly, “Well, you see, when we were chatting, Martin asked what led me to close the shop...”

Crowley arched an eyebrow as the angel trailed off. “And?” he prompted when Aziraphale dithered.

“And,” Aziraphale continued with forced lightness in his tone, “I MAY have said that my husband wished to retire to the country.” He shied away from meeting Crowley’s gaze and continued with forced cheeriness, “And he insisted that I bring my husband to the party.”

Crowley laughed and said, “Oh-ho!”

Aziraphale stomped his foot and said sharpishly, “Really, Crowley!” When the redhead continued laughing, the angel crossed his arms and said with an arched eyebrow, “You didn’t seem to find it so funny when I had you in my bed screaming my name nearly every night this week.”

Crowley choked on air at the angel’s blunt statement. He swallowed audibly and tried to say something, but he only managed a, “Ngk!”

Aziraphale leveled a smug look at his demon and rounded the pedestal that the orchid Crowley had been tending was on. He ran his tongue over his lips and lightly traced his fingers over the trembling demon’s chest. “Crowley, my dear,” he said gently, “do you agree to do this? For me?”

Crowley leaned into the angel’s touch unconsciously. He swallowed audibly and nodded jerkily.

“I need you to say it, my dear,” Aziraphale said, twisting a copper curl around a finger.

Crowley drew a ragged breath and said, voice trembling slightly, “Yes, Angel, I will do as you ask.”

“Good boy,” Aziraphale whispered as he rose to his tiptoes to brush his lips over the demon’s. He pulled back and turned away, leaving Crowley leaning toward where he’d just been. He tossed a coy look over his shoulder and started to leave the conservatory, knowing that Crowley would follow. Later that night, Crowley would finally figure out how the mister had ended up in the bed in the first place.

==

The next afternoon found Aziraphale with his sleeves rolled up, humming along to a classical record in the kitchen carefully measuring and mixing the ingredients for shortbread.

Crowley sauntered in and approached the angel to see if he could cause any mischief. Aziraphale fumbled the salt as he measured it, scattering it across the counter. Making a vaguely disappointed sound, the angel dumped the teaspoon of salt into the bowl, before taking a pinch of salt between his fingers and tossing it over his shoulder.

Crowley sputtered as he was hit in the face with salt. “What the heaven, Angel?” he demanded petulantly. 

Aziraphale turned around and raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Oh my dear, I’m sorry!” he said with faux sincerity. 

Crowley growled, “Angel, you sense demonic energy; you knew I was there!”

Aziraphale barely suppressed a smirk, and said, “How does it feel to suddenly have something thrown in your face? It’s not terribly pleasant, is it?”

Crowley’s eyes widened as he protested, “I said I was sorry, Angel!”

Aziraphale made a downwards gesture, miracling the salt off of the demon, and said, “I know, my dear. I apologize. I couldn’t resist a little mischief.”

Crowley stepped closer and snaked his arms around the angel’s plush middle. “I’m such a bad influence on you, Angel,” he said, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Aziraphale allowed himself a brief happy sigh and leaned into the demon’s embrace for a long moment. Then he pulled back and said, “Yes, yes, such a bad demon. Now off with you. The butter for my biscuits is softening as we speak.”

Crowley made a show of pouting, but he released the angel and moved to perch on the kitchen island so he could have a front row seat as the angel attempted to make biscuits from scratch the human way.

==

Crowley slouched into an unaffected pose next to the open passenger door as Aziraphale fussed over his new gold and black tartan bow tie in the Bentley’s review mirror. The angel gave him a nervous smile and accepted the hand he held out to help him up out of the car.

Aziraphale retrieved the tin of homemade biscuits he’d made from the back seat, then stood and ran a hand over his waistcoat as Crowley shut the car door.

“You look great, Angel,” Crowley said, trying very hard to seem unaffected by their whole situation.

Aziraphale brightened under the praise and after giving the demon a smile that he swore lit up the dark December night, he ran an appraising eye over Crowley’s attire. The demon was clad in a pair of dark trousers, (not his normal skinny jeans, though the cut was as close as suit trousers could manage), a black suede blazer, a dark maroon button-up with a loose skinny black and gold striped tie, and a long black trench coat in acknowledgment of the snow blanketing the street.

Aziraphale raised up on his tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on Crowley’s lips. “You look absolutely dashing, my dearest,” he said with an impossibly fond smile.

Crowley absolutely did NOT blush at the compliment. He cleared his throat and offered his hand to the angel. “Let’s get this over with, Angel.”

Aziraphale frowned at the proffered hand and snapped his fingers. A pair of matching gold and silver rings appeared on the fourth fingers of their left hands. “There,” he said as he placed his left hand in Crowley’s right.

Crowley gallantly led the angel up the shoveled path to the front door. He resolutely affected an air of polite boredom and absolutely did NOT stare surreptitiously at the bright band radiating the warmth of the angel’s power on his finger.

Aziraphale knocked on the townhouse’s door and smiled brightly as a well-built man with a perfectly styled coif of silver-streaked dark gray hair in an expensive looking jumper opened the door.

“Ezra! Thank you for coming!” the man enthused. He turned his gaze and megawatt smile on Crowley. “And you must be the husband!”

“Yes,” Crowley said with barely disguised disgust, “I am the husband.”

Aziraphale jumped in and said brightly, “Anthony, this is Martin Torman; Martin, this is my husband, Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley politely extracted his arm from the angel’s grip to shake Martin’s hand. He was quite proud of himself for not crushing the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Martin,” he said through gritted teeth.

“And you, Anthony,” he replied. “Come in, come in, we’ve all been terribly curious about you, the one who could manage to snatch up Ezra.”

Crowley cut a look at Aziraphale as the human led them inside. The angel just shrugged and mouthed, “Behave.”

Crowley made a point of rolling his eyes, but he pasted on an expression close enough to polite that Aziraphale let it slide. Martin introduced them around once they reached the sitting room where the party was already in full swing. “And this is Anthony, the one who managed to steal Ezra!” he said with an exaggerated pout.

Crowley blinked behind his dark glasses as waves of envy suddenly washed over him. He relaxed into an artless slouch, snaking an arm casually around Aziraphale’s shoulders, showing off the long lean lines of his body.

He allowed himself a small smirk as the waves of envy renewed and mixed with a smattering of lust. Maybe this evening wasn’t going to be a complete bust.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley preened under the practically hostile attention. He bit the inside of his cheek as Crowley slipped into easy conversation with these people, letting a bit of temptation into his voice. All the while, Crowley kept at least one hand on him at all times.

As the original tempter worked his charms on the crowd, Aziraphale watched him. How easily Crowley chatted about everything and anything, trotting out the cover story they’d agreed on, while also making sure the angel’s cup was never empty and the canapes never stopped flowing. 

“So how did you two meet?” Sybil, a cartography collector, asked, casting a skeptical eye on the two man-shaped beings currently ensconced in the love seat.

Crowley tossed a besotted look Aziraphale’s way and said, “I ducked into his shop one day during a downpour. I’d forgotten my umbrella, and he didn’t have one to offer me. He’d given his away to the last poor sod who’d stumbled into the shop looking to escape the rain. So, while I waited for the rain to let up, he asked me what I thought of Shakespeare. Before either of us realized it, two hours had passed and the sun had been out for at least one of them!”

Aziraphale blushed slightly and said, “Then he asked me out for lunch.”

“I did,” Crowley acknowledged, snagging another neat triangle of puff pastry from a passing tray and handing it to Aziraphale, “and basically the rest is history. I was smitten.”

Aziraphale plucked a stuffed olive off his plate and offered it to Crowley, who accepted it daintily scraping his teeth against the angel’s fingertips. “Even though I wasn’t really looking for a relationship, it was just so easy, so right, being with him,” the angel heard himself saying with a fond smile, “before I knew it, I was spending more time with him than without, and I realized that I didn’t want it any other way.” He added a delicate shrug and said, “So, I asked Anthony to marry me.”

Crowley forgot his carefully crafted unaffected air and gave the angel a fond smile. “And I said yes, of course. I’d been arse over teakettle for the silly sod since that first rainy afternoon,” he said, yellow eyes intense behind his glasses. 

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat and the flush that crept over his features had nothing to do with the wine that never ran low in his glass.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversation and far sooner than Aziraphale had expected, he found himself wrapped in Crowley’s arms as everyone crowded around the television for the countdown to midnight.

“Three...two...one, happy new year!” As the humans cheered and kissed, the angel lovingly cradled the demon’s face and the two shared a deep kiss as the new decade began.

==

Aziraphale sat in the Bentley as close to his demon as he could get, one warm hand on his bony knee. As Crowley navigated the narrow country lanes that would take them back to their cottage, he could feel Aziraphale’s gaze on his face.

Aziraphale smiled and sighed happily.

“What’s up, Angel?” Crowley asked, finally breaking the silence between them as Queen’s Teo Torriatte played quietly through the speakers.

Aziraphale seemed to think about it before finally asking, “Was it true?”

“What?”

“That you’ve been in love with me since that first rainy day?”

Crowley put his faith in the Bentley to keep them safe and turned his head to meet the angel’s gaze. Even in the dark, they could see the intensity in each other’s gaze. After several heartbeats of further silence, Crowley said simply, “Yes.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught at the naked honesty in the demon’s tone. “Pull over,” he said breathlessly.

Crowley arched an eyebrow questioningly, but he did as the angel directed. He turned the car off, and turned in his seat to face him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, taking both of the demon’s hands in his, “I love you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my husband for real?”

Crowley’s voice abandoned him. He nodded vigorously, studiously ignoring the tear that slipped past his defenses and rolled hotly down his cheek. Aziraphale lit up, divine glow leaking into this plane, and Crowley finally found his voice. “There’s nothing else I’d like more.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was born out of the desire to write a seasonally appropriate fic. Also, it ticks off not one but TWO of the prompts from my prompt notebook!
> 
> And I kinda needed a break from all the smut I've been writing lol
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading! Let me know what you think!
> 
> And Happy New Year!


End file.
